


the perfect angle

by decideophobia



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, human!AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-10
Updated: 2013-02-10
Packaged: 2017-11-28 19:12:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/677904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/decideophobia/pseuds/decideophobia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Show-off,” Stiles mutters, and almost jumps when he turns and sees Laura standing at the counter. </p><p>“Tell me about it,” Laura says, rolling her eyes, but there’s still a wide grin on her lips. </p><p>“You can tell me,” Stiles tells her and dramatically drops his voice to a whisper. “The abs are spray-painted, aren’t they?”</p><p>“I wish,” she admits. “They’re very real. I tried to coax him into letting me try to wash my clothes on his stomach once.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	the perfect angle

**Author's Note:**

> I apologise in advance. This is so bad.  
> Also, unbeta'd. Feel free to point me into the direction of errors.

Stiles gnaws on a straw and taps the fingers of his free hand against the counter. Sunday mornings are always boring and eventless. People don’t go to the gym on Sundays. Sundays are sacred days, no work, lazing around, definitely no working out in the gym. If it wasn’t for the damn good money he wouldn’t be standing behind the counter right now, killing time by destroying one straw after another—because the gym he works at is like, supreme, and they have a bar. A health bar, of course. With drinks and _smoothies_. Stiles always bites his bottom lip hard to keep from laughing when the beefed up guys come to get a _strawberry-vanilla-smoothie_. It’s golden, really. 

“Why are you doing this to me?”

Stiles smirks when he hears Laura’s familiar voice. It’s when Derek saunters into Stiles’ view, towel slung over his shoulder and a water bottle in his left hand. He looks like he just stepped out of one of those glossy magazines, all bright eyes and purposeful bed head, with a white tank top that hides absolutely nothing, and Stiles takes a few seconds to take in Derek’s strong arms. Plus, the stubble he so carefully maintains does _things_ to Stiles. What would stubble feel like on his tongue when he licked it? Stiles has never licked stubble before, it never even occurred to him, but right now it’s the only thing he can think about. 

“I bask in the sweet taste of your misery,” Derek answers, completely unconcerned, and Laura throws her towel at his head. Derek sniggers. 

“You’re the worst, and I hate you,” Laura informs him before turning to Stiles. “You’re my witness. He’s the world’s worst brother.”

Stiles doesn’t even have time to answer when Derek chimes in, “Stiles is _my_ witness. He was right there when you made me vow to you that I’ll drag you with me when I go to the gym, no matter what or how much you protest.”

“Good morning to you too,” Stiles manages to say before Laura can counter with anything, and holds out his hands so that Derek and Laura can drop their locker keys into his open palms. Derek’s fingers brush his skin, and Stiles absolutely doesn’t shiver at that. 

“Hey,” Derek says. He doesn’t quite smile but the corners of his mouth are upturned. Laura glares at her brother, and then she flicks her ponytail over her shoulder and starts towards the cross trainer, muttering, “You just don’t want to share him.”

Stiles maintains not to blush at that but his heart stutters a little, and Derek glowers at Laura’s back. 

When Derek looks back at him, Stiles has a hard time not throwing himself over the counter at Derek. Good thing he’s used to this urge, so he can easily control it. Well, ‘easily’ is too strong a word. It’s more along the lines of ‘barely’. 

“Uh,” Stiles says eloquently, because Derek’s still standing at the bar and hasn’t sauntered off to the treadmill yet. 

Derek slides a CD over the counter. “Can you put that on? I forgot my iPod and elevator music doesn’t really bring it while running.”

There’s no need for Stiles to feel flustered. For one, he doesn’t pick the music so Derek’s comment doesn’t attack his taste but what’s playing is far from elevator music. Plus, Derek’s songs of choice are…abysmal. Stiles once made the mistake of putting on a CD Derek had given him, and it was just—no. Also, it hadn’t been music with an encouraging rhythm for running either. So Derek should be the last to complain. Stiles slides the CD back to Derek, shaking his head.

“No way. Last time I played your CD I was stuck with this stupid One Direction song for _days_ ,” Stiles grouses. Seriously, he doesn’t get how a guy like Derek listens to One Direction. He’s still to figure out if Derek’s messing with him here. Derek smirks at him. 

“At least you’re up-to-date with the new stuff,” Derek replies easily, shrugging. 

“I’d rather not.”

“Give me yours then,” Derek suggests.

“What?”

Derek rolls his eyes, and repeats, slowly, “Can I borrow your mp3 player from you?”

Stiles gapes at him but then he snickers. “You sure? I don’t know. I highly doubt my music taste would suit your One Direction sensitive ears.”

“Please,” Derek says and arches an eyebrow. “If you’re not hard enough for One Direction it’s hardly my fault.”

Stiles snorts but gets his player from under the counter and pushes it into Derek’s hand. “Don’t come running to me crying when you can’t handle _real_ music.”

“If by real music you mean the Teletubbies theme I am reconsidering knowing you.”

Stiles doesn’t get to say anything, because Derek waves and stalks off to one of the treadmills, plugging the earphones into his ears already. Stiles is so outraged he can’t do anything but glare menacingly at the back of Derek’s head and willing him to feel his deadly stare. Either their telepathic connection sucks or Derek just chooses to ignore him. Instead, he picks out a treadmill that faces the mirrors on the opposite wall of the room, with his back to Stiles. 

Stiles grumbles quietly. He picks up another straw to chew on since he threw the other one away when Laura and Derek came in. Quickly, he glances at Laura who’s working out on the cross trainer, frowning so hard she could easily give Derek a run for his money. Sometimes, Stiles wonders who started the frowny routine first: Derek or Laura, and who copied who. 

Since Laura and Derek are the only two people at the gym, and Stiles has still nothing to do, he lets his eyes wander through the room; over Laura who manages to stay on her cross trainer while viciously picking at her phone, probably to find the right music on it; and then further until he’s faced with the glory that is Derek’s back. 

And boy, does he have a back. The straw falls from Stiles’ mouth and onto the counter. It takes him a few seconds to notice, and when he puts it back between his lips, he bites down on it hard. The muscles on Derek’s back shift with his swift strides, and his top clings to his torso—god. Stiles’ eyes roam over Derek’s body, over his shoulders and arms, his legs until he drops his gaze to Derek’s ass. Possibly, Stiles drools. And swoons. A lot of swooning, actually. He can’t help but wonder how Derek’s ass would feel like under Stiles’ hands and the imagination of it almost fries his brain. 

Stiles sucks on the straw, worrying it some more, pulling it out of his mouth to suck in a breath before gnawing it again. It’s so fucking frustrating to watch Derek, on so many levels. For one, it’s distracting; plus, Stiles’ head gets so stuffed with inappropriate things that are so not helpful, and he gets the ridiculous urge to start working out too—namely by climbing Derek like a tree. That would totally count as exercise. With a frustrated groan he buries his face in his hands. 

He’s gnawed his way through another two straws by the time Derek gets off the treadmill and walks over to the abs workout thingies. It’s ridiculous. Stiles’ breath hitches in his throat when Derek lifts the hem of his shirt to wipe at the sweat on his forehead, revealing his unreal Photoshop abs—and really, that is just torturous. Stiles wants to lick all over that. Instead, he just ogles shamelessly. Well, shamelessly until Derek glances his way and catches him staring. Derek looks suspiciously like he has to restrain himself to prevent a grin from splitting his face in half. Smug bastard.

“Show-off,” Stiles mutters, and almost jumps when he turns and sees Laura standing at the counter. 

“Tell me about it,” Laura says, rolling her eyes, but there’s still a wide grin on her lips. 

“You can tell me,” Stiles assures her and dramatically drops his voice to a whisper. “The abs are spray-painted, aren’t they?”

Laura laughs with her head thrown back, and Stiles casts a look at Derek, who glances their way, frowning. 

“I wish,” she admits. “They’re very real. I tried to coax him into letting me try to wash my clothes on his stomach once.”

“Did he let you do it?”

“No, he daggered me with the Derek Hale Eyebrows Of Death,” she answers cheerfully. “Will you mix me a smoothie, please?”

“Sounds a lot like him,” Stiles mutters under his breath, and then, louder, “Coming right up.”

Laura chuckles delightedly, and Stiles starts working on her smoothie. He puts together most of the ingredients before he gets out some pieces of watermelon—and promptly drops them, because Derek is bending over some rack, arms crossed over his chest. Maybe Stiles should stop him from coming here, because clearly, Derek is hazardous to Stiles’ working routine—and health in general. He hasn’t been this sexually frustrated in forever, and this is seriously getting harder by the minute. 

Stiles ducks down to pick up the pieces of melon and gets new ones. He deliberately keeps his eyes on his hands, dicing the melon and putting it into the mixer. He’d probably cut half his fingers off if he kept ogle the way Derek’s tank top stretches with his movements or how his pants hug his ass and his thighs—or generally, how effortlessly Derek lifts his torso, like it’s not hard at all. 

Laura smirks knowingly at him when he finishes her smoothie and places the glass in front of her. He can’t even be bothered to feel embarrassed about it. It’s not like she hasn’t figured it out long ago, namely the second time she had come here with Derek. Surprisingly, she doesn’t mock Stiles for it, she doesn’t comment on his crush on her brother, and Stiles is thankful for that. He knew if it was any other person, like Lydia or Scott—they wouldn’t let him live it down. 

Stiles stares at Derek some more, who’s doing all sorts of things right now; things that make Stiles think of how flexible he might be and bending over and—that’s jerk-off material right there, and Stiles is still at work, so. No. 

“Is he really into One Direction?” Stiles blurts before he can think about it. Laura almost chokes on her smoothie.

“You really think he listens to One Direction?” she asks, patting herself on the chest. She coughs a couple of times before she calms down. And then she just laughs, outright laughs, so much and so loud she barely manages to hold herself on the stool. Stiles ignores her to look back at Derek. Which is a mistake, as Derek stands with his head tipped back and his bottle of water on his lips, drinking thirstily. Stiles follows the line of Derek’s jaw and throat with his eyes, thinking about kissing and sucking at—nope, not going there.

“He’s fucking with you, Stiles,” Laura heaves out eventually, and Stiles looks back at her. 

Surly, Stiles glowers but Laura only grins cheekily. “Hilarious.”

Laura chuckles again, stretching out her hand to run the back of her fingers over Stiles’ cheek. “Don’t pout, Bambi Eyes, he’s only desperately trying to woo you with his twisted humour.”

Stiles snorts and bats her hand away, feeling his heart almost skip a beat. It’s not like he didn’t realize Derek likes him too but he never quite figured out how much of a ‘like’ this is. It is easy, talking to Derek, bantering with him, and Stiles can’t count the times Derek caught him staring at various parts of Derek’s body while Derek worked out. He only smirked smugly—because of course that moron knows how attractive he is. 

“Well, that and with his ridiculous abs,” Laura adds and shrugs lazily, nipping at her smoothie. Stiles feels the heat rising in his cheeks. It’s isn’t just about the abs, of course, they’re a bonus, and Derek is eye candy of the supreme sort but that’s not even the point. Messing with somebody by deadpanning about One Direction is absolutely a thing Stiles himself would do. It’s the way Derek seems completely at ease with Stiles goggling him all the time, and not making stupid comments about it or being outrageously cocky. 

It’s not long after that that Derek finishes his workout and disappears into the changing rooms after getting his key back. Laura pays for her smoothie and saunters off to take a shower, shamelessly happy about going back home. 

Stiles goes to make himself a smoothie. There’s no one there and he’s back to be bored out of his mind. He shoves a straw into his glass and catches the top end with his lips. It’s kind of weird, this situation with Derek. Probably, Stiles could just go for it but—

He absolutely doesn’t shriek when Derek’s suddenly right next to him. His hair is wet and drips little trails of water over his face here and there, he smells freshly showered and he’s dressed in a grey tank top and a dark blue pair of jeans; and Stiles has no fucking idea when he started paying attention to clothes. 

Stiles exhales loudly after calming down again and sucks his straw back into his mouth. Derek’s eyes snap to his lips and linger before he slowly drags his gaze back up to Stiles’ eyes. 

“I forgot to give back your mp3 player,” he says, holding it out to Stiles. Stiles takes it with a free hand and shoves it under the counter. 

Derek lifts his eyebrows at him and incredulously asks, “’Starships’? Really?”

Stiles splutters. “Shut up, that song is fucking awesome, okay. Good for running.”

Derek watches him intently, and Stiles swallows dryly. He turns a little and nudges the straw in his smoothie with his tongue to draw it back in when Derek lets out a quiet, almost pained-sounding noise. His eyes are on Stiles’ mouth again when Stiles turns to look.

“What—”

“Your _mouth_ , Stiles,” Derek says hoarsely. “Are you doing this on purpose?”

Stiles feels a little like a deer caught in headlights. 

“Do you want to get back at me?”

What.

“Get back at you? For what?”

“You have no _idea_ , do you?” Derek huffs quietly and steps closer. “How distracting you are? When you put things in your mouth or when you stretch to get glasses off the top of the shelves.”

“Wait,” Stiles says and puts his glass down. His mind is racing. “Oh my god, what? Are you saying you’ve been stretching lasciviously on purpose all the time? To drive me nuts?”

Derek crowds him against the counter and braces his hands on both sides of Stiles on the edge of the surface, bracketing him in. They’re so close Stiles can feel the heat radiating off Derek’s body and it’s fucking delicious.

“I wanted you to look at me,” Derek admits. He’s quiet, as if he’s revealing a secret, but fierce and his eyes have this intense expression as if he’s trying to will his thoughts into Stiles’ head. “It’s kind of nice when you do.”

“’Kind of nice’?” Stiles mocks weakly, his voice almost cracking at the edges, because Derek’s leaning in even closer, their mouths only mere inches apart.

“It’s—you’re the sole reason I keep coming here.”

It’s a revelation, even when technically it’s not, but Stiles can’t help the shuddery breath he exhales. 

“I guess you’ve really been trying to woo me,” Stiles remarks with a wry grin. When Derek huffs Stiles feels the trace of air on his cheek. “Although, what if I had actually liked One Direction?”

“You don’t.”

“Yeah but what if?”

Derek rolls his eyes. “Then I’d moved right on and left you to your weird adoration for boybands.”

“Wow, you’re superficial.”

“That’s pretty rich coming from someone who kept shamelessly gaping at my ass at any given chance.” 

“Well, you kept presenting it to me. It would have been impolite not to.”

“You’re fucking unbelievable.”

And then Derek’s cupping Stiles’ neck and drawing him in; mouths colliding, teeth clacking, tongues meeting, and it’s heady and hot and devastatingly brain-melting. 

Plus, Stiles can finally get his hands on that ass, and damn, it’s glorious.


End file.
